In yesterday's essay, Dissenting Toward Deep Impact, it was asserted that,
"... we can resist, or at least point out, the folly of those who dissent for the sake of dissent; those who NEED to dissent in order to distance themselves from the common herd, and then define themselves by that distance. "I am not one of THEM!" might be each of their mantras as they smugly meditate on their self-identities. It's like defining oneself by indulging in contrary acts to one's parents' wishes: "I will NEVER be like them!" It is all show, it is all so much identity via externals. Latch on to the idea that "To dissent is to be an American"; and all you'll do is contradict, merely to maintain an identity. It's like a rip in one's blue jeans, a tattoo on one's forehead, a corporate logo on one's shoe."
Surely the assertion is vulnerable to rebuttal. OK. So be it. I concede.
But in my concession speech, I must include this gem of a story from the Washington Post, "In DC, 'W' Spells More Than Baseball."
It is reported that certain fans of the Washington Nationals baseball team, the new major league franchise in our nation's capitol, do not want to purchase or wear the team's official baseball cap. Why? Because the cap is decorated with a W, which, in case you are as obtuse as these plaintive fans, stands for Washington. Washington, DC, that is. And someone, in some parallel freak universe, might think the W stands for a sitting American president.
And it's not a block-print W either, but a cursive, almost whimsical one, all rounded and hasty. Hence, there is no way, unless one chooses to be paranoid, that the W in question could be confused with the W associated with George W. Bush (who happens to be the President of the United States and is domiciled in Washington, which is our capitol, and where the Nationals play baseball, in case you forgot). In fact, the hats in question might more readily suggest allegiance for teams in places like Williamsport or Wankerville or Winkeltown or even Whoville. The W does not even remotely imply allegiance to a president, let alone a president with the middle name of Walker (which is not the best name for a baseball player either, if, as so often happens, you call on Walker to steal second base. In that case you might rather pinch run the kid named Turbo Cleats; just like you'd probably like a replacement for your somnambulist catcher, Jon A. Sleep.)
In short, no one is going to think that your W baseball cap reveals that you're one of "those."
It's amazing how desperate, how profoundly desperate we humans are to fashion some sort of meaningful identities for ourselves. Sports and designer logos, clothing and affectations, addresses and degrees, newspapers and journals, bumper stickers and vacation spots, beer brands and rock bands -- each of these are little badges, little tags, indicating who we are, and, more importantly, who we are not. They identify us as certain types; certain subspecies. And they identify us as not only separate, but desperate.
But what could be more revealing of that desperation than certain Democrats' paranoid reluctance to don a W atop their collective self-absorption? Are they afraid of something? Are they afraid of being ostracized, mocked, derided, chided and jeered? Are they afraid of being considered sub-human, lemming-like, a friend of demagogues and tyrants? Are they afraid of being labeled homophobic? a member of the religious right? a capitalist imperialist? a traitor? liar?
Who would call them such things, or who would be so mean and shallow? Certainly not baseball fans (though such nasty folks would no doubt be considered base).
Of course, the answer to all these questions is simple: the people who would be doing such nasty name-calling are precisely those people who won't buy or wear the offending hats -- Democrats, particularly Democrats like Howard Dean, who hates "Republicans and everything they stand for." You know, the party of broad acceptance and tolerance. That party with an ass as its mascot. (Ever notice how you never see a Democrat wearing an ass on his or her attire? That's probably a far-too suggestive logo: it might be confused with the people who won't wear a Nationals cap.)
In closing, I must make a confession, an admission of guilt. I, too, suffer from the common maladies associated with human vanity. However, my vanity manifests itself in NOT wearing any logo, or designer label; or displaying any bumper sticker. I express my vanity by sneering down on all those who MUST display their vanity in every breath and facade. But my nearly Shaker-style life is nonetheless a desperate cry for help and attention. And, sadly, it too is rooted in the apotheosis of self, the setting of the self against and above others: "I am not one of them!"
And yet, in Oedipal justice, no matter how hard I try NOT to be like THEM, I find that I am exactly one of them, through and through.
But I would buy a Washington Nationals hat if they were a real team, like the Red Sox, and not just another wanna-be-great mid-Atlantic mediocrity like (I can't resist), the Phillies.
Not that I care about the Red Sox, really. Seriously, I mean this: I am not one of THEM.
Contratimes
©Bill Gnade 2005/Contratimes
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